


fishermen, philosophers

by coffeewithdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fishing, Fluff, M/M, POV Castiel, brief allusion to homophobic behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeewithdean/pseuds/coffeewithdean
Summary: "I’ve witnessed many of God’s miracles in my time, but I suppose my favourite was Peter’s. He was required to pay a levy and found the exact amount - one silver coin - lodged in the mouth of a fish he caught. God knew of Peter’s plight and placed the coin where he would find it."“That’s your favourite? You know he had a son who could walk on water right?”





	

The final straw is the dishes.

Sam is a wonderful friend to Castiel, a trusted confidant and a useful sounding board for bouncing ideas back and forth during a particularly obscure monster hunt. That being said, he is generally a terrible roommate.

Perhaps ‘terrible’ is putting it a little harshly. After all, it doesn’t make a difference to Castiel whether or not Sam picks up his dirty socks. He isn’t especially put out when Sam fails to re-shelve the 10 or so books he’s reading at any one time. Sure, Cas would like to be able to enjoy a hot shower for longer than 5 minutes, but he understands. Sam’s hair is of a length that requires extra time to… condition and so forth. Presumably.

Dean, on the other hand, is less forgiving.

Ordinarily - which is to say on any other day but this one - Dean would have scalded Sam, huffed a little for appearances, before loading his socks into the laundry, clearing the table of books and setting about cooking dinner for the three of them.

But not today. Today Dean Winchester turns 40.

Moods in the bunker have been dour all week, after a tough hunt left them all bruised and aching. Castiel has felt it: the weight of his humanity hanging around his neck. The sensation of pain is not a new one by now but it still takes him by surprise. Dean and Sam, too, have felt it more keenly in recent years, unable to brush it off as easily as they did at 20-something.

So when Dean slips on one of Sam’s stray socks this morning, he lands on an already purpling and swollen knee, courtesy of the 279 year old witch they encountered earlier this week.

Sadly, it put a halt to any decent birthday celebrations they’d been planning. They were in recovery mode, which meant hunkering down in the bunker, and Dean was less than pleased about it.

In a quiet moment last night, with an ice pack pressed to his knee and his fingers in a bowl of M&Ms, Dean confessed to Castiel that he felt old. Cas felt touched that Dean was comfortable enough to divulge this vulnerability, even if the confession was immediately followed by a joke about how stupid that must sound to a former angel. It didn’t sound stupid to Castiel, of course. Cas understands, because sometimes he feels just the same way. Old. A little tired. Out of touch with those around him.

Needless to say, with Dean wound a little more tightly than usual, Sam’s lax chore routine, and more free time than any one of them are used to, it was only a matter of time before something had to give. In the end, it just happened to be the dishes.

“God-fucking-damnit!” Dean clatters a mug down into the sink. It’s china rings off the other dozen or so plates inside it. “How many times do I gotta say it?”

Sam swings his head up from his book just as Dean brandishes a particularly damning plate, something green and putrid clinging to its centre.

“Scrape them into the garbage, then into the dishwasher it goes, it that really so fucking hard to grasp?”

Castiel averts his eyes, focuses on the television where some Marvel show plays its theme music.

He hears Sam flip the book closed where he sits at the table. “Would you relax, I was letting them soak.”

“Letting them soak, my ass. You’re waiting for me to clean up after you, same as always! Well not this time kiddo, I am out.” Dean drops the dishcloth in dramatic fashion. It lands with a splat, sending stray droplets of dishwater hurtling towards the bottom of Sam’s jeans.

“Hey- jerk!”

Dean exits the kitchen not before waving a rude gesture in Sam’s direction.

Sam’s nostrils flare a little before he slopes towards the sink.

“Should I-” Cas stutters, unsure of which Winchester he should attend to first. In fairness, one of those grubby dishes belongs to Cas. “Can I assist you with the dishes, Sam?”

Sam sighs softly. “Nah, it’s fine. Dean’s right, it was my turn. Guess I’ve been kind of a slob lately.”

“We’ve all been ‘taking it easy’,” Cas offers.

There’s shuffling from the hallway, then Dean is back with a bulging duffel bag at his side.

“Look,” he says, “We gotta get out of this bunker before we kill each other. So. I’m volunteering.” Dean gestures with his bag to the surrounding (severely cluttered) living room. “When I get back, I want this place spick and span, little brother. Got it?”

“What, you can’t leave me to do _all_ the-”

“Mhm pretty sure I can considering I’m the resident freakin’ maid around here. It’s your turn buddy.” Dean pats the side of his duffel, a smug smile fixed to his face. “I’m goin’ fishing.”

Dean disappears back down the hallway, leaving Cas to stare perplexedly at where he stood.

He turns to Sam for clarification.

“Fishing.” Cas repeats. “Is this a euphemism I'm unaware of?"

Sam chuckles, somewhat exasperated. “Not this time. Looks like he's headed to the lake again. Don’t worry, he just needs a place to cool off. He usually he picks a bar, so I’m calling this progress.”

“Hmm.”

Cas gets up from the couch and ventures down the hallway where he bumps into Dean, who’s now lugging a tarnished metal box alongside his duffel.

“Dean.” Castiel starts. “Are you all right?”

“M’fine, Cas. Just gotta get outta here before I start climbing walls. Dunno why the Men of Letters couldn’t have had a few above ground rooms. Livin’ like a nest of vamps here, it ain’t natural.”

“But what about your knee? You still need rest-”

“I’ve had about as much rest as I can take, man. I’m going nuts here.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry. About the house. It’s not all Sam’s mess.”

“Yeah? Least you clean your shit up on occasion.” Dean huffs, strokes the area between his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Look, are you coming or what?”

“Excuse me?”

Dean kicks at the box by his feet.

“Fishing.” He says.

“Uhm.” Cas frowns. He didn’t think he’d be welcome on Dean’s ‘cool-down’ trip. “If you’d like me to…”

Dean shrugs a shoulder, and doesn’t look Cas in the eye when he says “Up to you.”

“Well, then y-yes, of course. Let me put some belongings together.”

“Awesome. I’ll get the fishing rods out the store room.” Dean slaps a hand down onto Cas’ shoulder before shimmying past him to the stairwell.

***

  
The man that Dean hires a boat from does not seem to know much about boats. Nor does he seem to like Castiel. He ignores Castiel’s question about the advantages of an electric over a diesel vessel (though neither of them can afford that). He grimaces when Cas sits down next to Dean on the rowboats narrow bench. He sneers at the antique fishing rods Dean found in storage.

Still, he pockets Dean’s money and sends them on their way.

They row out a few miles towards the center of the lake before Castiel turns to Dean, curious. “Did I do something to offend that man?” he asks.

“Who, Mike Pence over there? Nah, dude’s just a dick.”

"He didn’t seem all that interested in lending us his boat.”

“Nah, I’m sure he wasn’t. We don’t look like typical boat people, I guess.”

“What do ‘boat people’ look like?”

“Well, buddy, they don’t wear trenchcoats for a start.”

Cas frowns down at his attire.

He shucks the coat, revealing the plain grey scoop neck underneath.

“Better.” Dean says, before turning his gaze forward.

They rock ever so slightly back and forth on the waves. Dean reaches for the metal box. It turns out to be full of lines, lures and hooks. Castiel listens intently as Dean goes through his equipment, explaining the usefulness of each item in turn.

He only looks away once when Dean spears a wriggling worm onto a sharp hook. He squints as he looks out at the sun-glittered water.

“Here, you take that one.”

Dean passes over the fishing rod before readying his own.

He casts a line in one smooth whipping motion. Cas grips the handle and copies him. Success.

“Who taught you to fish, Dean?”

“It was my Dad. He, uh... It wasn’t all holy water and silver bullets, y’know? He went for the full survivalist regime. Obsessed with making sure I knew how to provide for myself, for Sammy. Taught me how to hunt, forage, build. How to fish.”

Cas tilts his head at that. He had known John’s hunter training was extensive, but he hadn’t realised it went that far.

“So even when you weren’t hunting you were-” Castiel nods out towards the lake, the surrounding forestry. “ _Hunting_?”

Dean smirks a bitter smile. “Heh. Yeah, guess so. Anyway, wasn’t all bad. Least now I can teach your inept ass how to hold a pole.”

Dean’s smile widens as he adjusts Castiel’s hold on the fishing pole.

Castiel looks up and meets Dean’s smile with one of his own. “I’m not completely inept. You know, I had a brother who loved to fish.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

“Raphael.”

“No way. Really? Big bad Raph liked to fish.”

“He wasn’t always a Big Bad.”

Dean hums, lays back against the stern of the boat.

“Yeah. Figures angels are into fishing. Isn’t the Bible like jam packed with fish metaphors?”

Castiel grins at that. “There are a few.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

Hm. Cas thinks about it for a moment.

"I’ve witnessed many of God’s miracles in my time, but I suppose my favorite was Peter’s. He was required to pay a levy and found the exact amount - one silver coin - lodged in the mouth of a fish he caught. God knew of Peter’s plight and placed the coin where he would find it.“

“ _That’s_ your favourite? You know he had a son who could walk on water right?” Dean smirks.

“I’m aware. But the coin found in the fish’s mouth - it intrigued me. Did He truly see fit to put it there? Fish, after all, are attracted to shiny things. It could be that it saw the silver on the riverbed and swallowed it. Negating the need for His intervention.”

“So did God put it there or was it there all along?" Dean hums and looks down at his fingers. "Tough one."

The waves roll idly by. Castiel spots a ripple on the surface and waits for it to come to him.

“You know why that guy was pissy with us, right?” Dean says, softly, beside him. “Wasn’t cos you look like an accountant. He thought… we were… y’know.”

“What?”

“He thought we were together, dumbass. Like. Y'know. _Together_ together.”

“Ah. I see. He was being… intolerant.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

There are some aspects of humanity Cas knows he can never hope to understand. So he simply says, “what a dick.”

Dean’s subsequent laughter is deep, charming. “Damnit we’ve clearly been spending way too much time together.” He bumps Castiel’s knee with his own. “You’ll be calling the Continental baby next.”

“I’m afraid that particular quirk is yours and yours alone.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and plants a hand on Dean’s knee. It feels warm where the lake has started to chill his fingers.

After a moment, Dean rests his hand on top of Cas’, slips his fingers in between the spaces of Cas’ knuckles.

They’ve done this before. It’s… comforting. Cas would be happy to sit like this for the rest of the afternoon, but it’s usually after a couple of seconds that Dean’s fingers start to sweat and he pulls them away.

Seconds pass. Dean’s hand stays atop Cas’. 

“So… You’re the fish right?”

Cas’ glances up abruptly. “I’m sorry?”

“In the story. When Peter caught the fish. You’re the fish and you’re wondering if God made you like this or if it was there all along. The infamous rebellious streak.”

Castiel laughs softly. “Astute as always, Dean.”

“Not as dumb as I look huh?”

“I’ve always thought you look very distinguished.”

“Is that code for old?”

“It’s code for beautiful.”

“Ugh, sap.”

“But yes. I suppose in this interpretation I’m the fish. Naomi said… she seemed to think I was broken. ‘A crack in my chassis’, is what she called it. God couldn’t have put that there. Wouldn’t have wanted that for us. So why… Why am I like this?”

Dean’s fingers flex and he squeezes Castiel’s palm over his.

“I don’t… I don’t think we’re supposed to know _why_ we are the way we are. I don’t think we’re meant to,” mutters Dean.

“If we don’t know why, how can we hope to change, to improve?”

“You don’t- Look, you’re not broken. You don’t need fixing, Cas, you’re...Everything you are is…” Dean turns to look Cas in the eye and swallows before he finds his words. “Everything I wanna be. You’re _good_ , Cas. Really, properly good.“

Dean’s gaze dips to Cas’ lips before darting away, back to where his fishing pole dips into the water.

Castiel has never felt so warm.

Dean clears his throat.

“We suck at fishing. Look,“ he gestures to the still water, “Not even a nibble. Hey, I have a spear in the trunk. We could do it the old fashioned way. Get all prehistoric.”

“No, I- I’ll be patient.” Cas says, voice low. “I can wait until they’re ready.”

Dean looks up, wide eyed.

“You can?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

“Oh and Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Happy Birthday.”

***

The bunker is spotless when they get back.

Dean makes a quiet apology to Sam, assuring him he doesn’t mind “cleaning up his shit”. Sam reciprocates with an apology of his own, promises to make more of an effort around the bunker.

Castiel ignores them both in favour of screening the new episode of Supergirl.

Later that evening they gather around the table, awaiting the fried cod (shop-bought, sadly, not caught themselves) and chips Dean has cooked for them.

“Hey Cas. Grab that tray out the oven would ya? Fish is ready.” says Dean.

Castiel pushes his chair out and moves towards the oven. When he places the piping hot tray on the counter beside where Dean is salting fries, he’s caught off guard as Dean suddenly leans in to press a soft kiss on Cas’ stubbled cheek. Dean pulls back after a lingering moment, and beams a smile Cas’ way. “Thanks. Hey Sammy, help Cas set the table?"

Castiel barely resists touching his cheek where Dean’s lips have left a faint tingle. He goes to help Sam with the dishes.


End file.
